Preston Vance adjusted his glasses and asked calmly, "Are we sure it’s a good idea not to let them up?"
Iris Yates said, "If they come up, then *we’re* the ones who will have a problem."
Preston Vance couldn’t help but laugh.
But he added, "I haven’t had many dealings with Mr. Grant, but... he strikes me as obsessive. He won’t give up on anything easily."
As he said this, he shot Chloe Reed a meaningful glance.
Chloe Reed’s brows furrowed slightly, a wave of annoyance washing over her.
’That’s Walker Grant for you.’
’If I don’t let him up today, he’ll just find some other way to get in.’
She sighed.
"Let’s eat first," Chloe Reed said. "We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it."
Preston Vance didn’t say anything more.
He didn’t meddle in her affairs, maintaining a perfect, respectful distance.
The taste of the hot pot meat brought a fleeting moment of satisfaction.
She finished a bottle of beer, and a pleasant warmth spread through her.
However, the good moment was short-lived.
This time, there was a knock on her apartment door.
"Police! Official business!"
A voice called from outside the door.
Everyone froze.
Iris Yates’s eyes flew wide in disbelief. "Police? Why are the police here?"
Chloe Reed was just as baffled. She got up, went to the door, and opened it.
Two police officers stood in the doorway, their expressions stern.
"We received a public complaint about illegal gambling at this location. We need to come in and search." One of the officers presented his identification and then firmly stepped inside.
Hearing this, Chloe Reed’s headache worsened. "We’re not gambling."


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